Camping Narrative Essay

In my family, the annual camping trip was the event of the summer. Everybody took time off of work and saved up their money for whatever food, games, or whatever they wanted or needed to bring along.
After nearly three hours of driving, we would finally reach the old dirt road that assured us that we were almost there; the road was full of bumps and rocks, shifting the contents and passengers of the car regularly. The sound of gravel crunching underneath the tires and unkempt tree branches grazing the sides of the vehicle were the most familiar sounds in the world to us; a soothing melody that beckoned us deeper into the forest to a place we all knew as home. Soon, we would pass an old sign, dented and worn by the weather over all of those

The bright, flickering flames of the fire mesmerized me. I was content just to watch the flames dance in the pit, wrapping around the branches and logs that we had collected earlier that day, slowly blackening the wood and turning it to char and ash. The smell of a campfire is quite potent, and easily recognizable to anyone who regularly utilizes them: heavy and ashy, the smell of burning wood filled my nostrils until it permeated my clothing. The heat of the fire became a bit too hot for me, so I decided to go back towards the porch of the house. As I looked up, I gazed into the darkness, but couldn’t even make out the vaguest shapes in the distance. It’s common knowledge among people who frequent forests that there are two different kinds of darkness: city darkness and forest darkness. In the city, it never really gets dark, it just gets dimmer. You can still see to walk down the sidewalk at night, or when you glance out your window. But here, in the middle of the woods, it’s pitch black. The trees appear ominous under the dim light of the moon, and the darkness seems as if it consumes the entire world. On a clear night, you’d be able to look up and see every individual star in the sky, unhindered by the lights of